Ramble On
by whatsamatta
Summary: Isn't that an epitome of irony? That his tragedy should save their friendships? *Helga's point of view.*


_**Disclaimer: Someone I knew committed inebriated suicide this morning, and I've been going over this in my mind all day at work – it's like midnight now, so I'm still treating this as 9/16/2009. Yes, it's a one-shot. Read, Review, and Spread the word.**_

_~O~_

_For a man who once upon a time became my friend, then my acquaintance, then my enemy, and now my dearly departed._

_~O~_

HA

It was one of those days where the morning brought the invisible sun and the fog, a little drizzle, red and yellow leaves and a crisp cool wind. The perfect autumn day holding just a breadth of winter, but was most definitely still fall. It was one of those days that I think changed my life, and will be a day that I may not always remember, but one I will certainly never forget.

It was the day I received the phone call telling me the first of the gang had died.

And it was Sid.

None of us had really expected anyone to go so early, I mean criminy, we were barely kicking off our mid twenties and starting families or businesses. And, in all honesty, I thought Arnold would be the first to go, what with his goody-goody let's fix the whole damn world attitude. But Sid, he didn't even have a fighting chance.

It was a damn bar fight between a couple of no good drunks, and one pulled out a gun. Sid didn't try to stop it, hell, he didn't even know the guy was armed until he took the slug of a .22 to the neck. Poor bastard never saw it coming.

Admittedly, we had all drifted apart. Phoebe and Gerald got married, so did Rhonda and Curly, Stinky was off in the Old Country finding his roots. Harold and Patty started up a wrestling camp for boys and girls, Eugene was principle in a theatre company in Upper East Manhattan. And Arnold. Arnold picked up where his parent's left off in helping the Green Eyed People. He was doing good last I heard.

So when I answered the phone to Sid's hysterical girlfriend telling me that Sid was dead, I couldn't quite process it.

Sid?

Dead?

As in, not breathing? No longer with a pulse?

Not alive?

No, we couldn't be talking about the same Sid. All I could see was ten year old Sid playing baseball with us. Sid sitting on the stoop and introducing Gerald for another rousing Urban Legend that had been passed down from kid generation to kid generation. Sid dancing with me at Senior Prom because we were both dateless. All I could hear was his voice exclaiming Boy Howdy, and trying to convince Rhonda that his white Beatle Boots were terribly stylish.

One of our own was gone for good, and at the sudden feeling of loss, I couldn't help but cry.

*

If you have ever been to a funeral in the south, mainly Louisiana, you know that they play music and celebrate the life while mourning. Well, the adults formerly known as the kids of Hillwood (The Gang) had come up with our own version of that by way of a pact involving a string of cars, loud rock and roll, and a childhood pastime.

First, of course, was the motorcade that brought Sid to the cemetery, and that was completely silent. It was mostly for his blood family, and friends less intimate that he made after P.S. 118. The priest spoke the last sermon over the grave - we hadn't even known Sid was Catholic until this point - ; we all wept while we thought of all the good and bad times we've shared, and all the times we'll never get to.

The second, as selfish as it sounds, was for us.

With Led Zeppelin as the chosen memory music, we blasted down the streets with smiles in semblance of a motorcade in honor of Sid. After weaving through the streets for all the important songs, like The Rain Song, Ramble On, D'Yer Mak'er, Rock and Roll, Black Dog –which was Sid's favorite –, When The Levee Breaks, and The Stairway To Heaven, we finally reached our destination.

Gerald Field.

We sat in the damp grass for hours, talking and laughing and sharing stories of when we were younger. During a lull in laughter, when most of us were lost in thought, I turned to whoever was next to me with a melancholy smile.

"I miss this."

The far off green eyes refocused on me, the cornflower yellow fields of hair wafted gently in the breeze. Even now, after all these years, my heart skipped a beat. My beloved and my despair, I think was once how I put it.

"Yeah, I miss this too. Why did we all lose touch?" Arnold asked as a generality, and a few of us shrugged. Again silence took over, but I couldn't stand both that and the stalling much longer.

"I don't want to drift apart again. It wasn't until I was told about his death did I realize how much I miss you guys. Yeah, even you Little Miss Perfect." I smiled softly to ease any harshness my nickname might carry, but Lila only smiled at me in understanding. Stinky, who had always been closest to Sid, picked grass and tossed it into the middle of the circle we had formed.

"This really bites. Who'da thunk that'd it'd be Sid's death that'd bring us back together?" His thick southern drawl always got on my nerves with its naivety, but now it held nothing but wisdom. We all murmured our agreement, and it would have died off into another silence, if it weren't for the fact that I raised my coke bottle.

"To Sid."

Everyone followed my lead to toast our departed friend, after which we all swapped contact information and more stories, as well as vows to stay connected. As I watched them I couldn't help but thank Sid. Of course I was saddened at his death, but I think without it we all would have continued to lose contact. I'm grateful that he did this for us.

I like to think that as we're all down here getting to know each other again, Sid is up there somewhere watching as his ten year old self, maybe even laughing at the irony. How his tragedy saved our friendships. And maybe, just maybe, he let an old familiar phrase slip past his lips, one which I swear up, down, even sideways that I heard.

Boy howdy.

HA


End file.
